


The (After) Life of the Party

by tess_genor



Category: Prodigal Son (TV 2019)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Blow Jobs, Deception, Falling In Love, Gil Arroyo is a ghost fucker, Hand Jobs, Happy Ending, I'm making you cheer for mcd, Lung Cancer, M/M, Malcolm Bright is a ghost, Mistletoe, holiday party
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-25
Updated: 2020-12-25
Packaged: 2021-03-10 20:07:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,181
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28202856
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tess_genor/pseuds/tess_genor
Summary: Diagnosed with lung cancer, Gil attends a holiday gala at the Milton Manor catering hall. There he meets a mysterious man that he instantly falls for, only later finding out that the man is the ghost of Malcolm Whitly, the son of the Surgeon. Gil spends his time away from the Manor thinking only of Malcolm and returns to the gala year after year just to see Malcolm again.[AU where Martin killed his whole family and Gil falls in love with a ghost]
Relationships: Gil Arroyo/Malcolm Bright
Comments: 18
Kudos: 19
Collections: Prodigal Son Holidays Fic Exchange





	The (After) Life of the Party

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sonshineandshowers](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sonshineandshowers/gifts).



> Here is a [playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/0Gk0XgpR9zMJfedOkIgfeO?si=7puS7P26RIKUs4iX0Ih7mg) to go along with the story

November 29th

“Gil,” the doctor’s voice was hesitant, “it’s a good thing you came to us when you did. The results aren’t promising. We’ve found a few lesions on your lungs, on the periphery too which is alarming. Do you have a family history of lung cancer?”

“My father passed from it.” Gil gripped the arm of the chair, and grimaced as it groaned under his hand.

“Was he a smoker?” The doctor questioned.

“Yes.” Gil forced a laugh to cut the tension. “He smoked like a chimney, only stopped because the doctors begged him to.”

“And what about you?” The doctor was too busy typing at his computer to even look at Gil while he spoke to him. When Gil didn't immediately respond, the doctor paused to face him.

“An occasional cigar. I try not to because of my father.” Gil’s heart hammered in his chest. He wasn’t prepared for this. He never wanted to end up like his father. He saw how he went out, and that’s not what Gil wanted. Gil always hoped that he would go peacefully in his sleep, but a small part of him always waited for a case to go sideways and take him out that way.

“We need to do a biopsy to check. I’ll call you back in to give you those results no matter what. This is something that I believe should be done in person.” The printer buzzed and spat out a piece of paper that the doctor then handed to Gil. On it was the information for the associated oncology center.

No amount of deep breaths could have stopped the way Gil’s hand shook as he took the paper from his doctor. None of Gil’s favorite songs would clear the conversation that was looping in his head. It was like a nightmare that he couldn't escape. It was all Gil thought about. From the moment he left the doctor’s office that first time, to when he went for the biopsy, and through the few days he had to wait for the results.

December 10th

Stepping back into the office, Gil knew he was in for more bad news. The doctor greeted him at the door and walked him to his chair. As Gil sank down into his chair he steeled himself. His father passed years ago. New treatments and breakthroughs made Gil’s own chances a whole lot better than his dad’s.

“Just get it over with please.” Gil surprised himself with how meek his voice was. He wouldn’t be able to stand the news if it was sugar coated. The doctor sighed.

“You have stage three micropapillary predominant adenocarcinoma.” 

The words hung in the air.

“Stage three is pretty advanced.” Was all Gil could muster.

“There are a few different options available to you. It’s not too late for surgery. There’s always chemotherapy and radiation. Try not to look at the diagnosis as an immediate sentence. I’ve seen patients go ten years on this diagnosis if they respond well to treatment.” As the doctor continued speaking, Gil’s mind took him elsewhere. He was going to have to tell his family and friends at some point. His bosses too.

“You know, Gil, later this month there’s a holiday gala. It’s for people with cancer who are important to the city. I’m allowed to invite three patients. As a lieutenant I think you deserve to be there.” 

That grabbed Gil’s attention. He never attended a gala before, he’d always wanted to, but this felt wrong. “I’m not sure I want to go somewhere just because I have cancer. I don’t- I feel uncomfortable. Everyone there is going to be sick. I don't…” The panic built up in Gil’s chest. It squeezed his lungs forcing all his words to stop. The doctor looked at him sadly, not with pity because he had lost far too many patients for that, it was just pure sadness. Disappointment that Gil wouldn’t accept the invitation.

“You don’t have to go. I can’t force you, but I think you’d enjoy it. It’s not to remind you that you’re sick. It’s for everyone to have a night out where you can forget about it. The menu is geared for cancer patients. It’s a lovely time. Held at Milton Manor, no less.” The doctor paused to let his words sink in.

He sighed and slid a cream piece of paper across the desk over to Gil. It was the invite. It was fancy with gilded lettering and it smelled of almonds. The options weighed on his mind. There was always the possibility the gala would be good for him. Meet other people going through the same thing, spend one whole night being pampered in one of the most expensive catering halls in Manhattan.

“Alright.” Gil conceded. He told himself he was going to show up just to see what it was all about and then he would leave early. Maybe snag a drink on the way out.

The doctor knew. He had seen so many of his patients handle things the same way. Gil was a good man and it pained his doctor to see him so unlike himself. Gil was tough, he’d seen things on the job that would give people nightmares, but Gil didn’t have to pretend to be strong through something like this. Gil can afford to allow himself to feel the emotions that went along with a diagnosis like this one.

December 20th

There was always a magic to the Manor around the holidays. The building seemed lighter, as though the holiday spirit lifted the shroud of darkness that normally surrounded the grounds. It would benefit Gil, it would give him something happy and sweet to hold on to.

The Milton Manor loomed over Manhattan in both size and reputation. As the former home of one of New York’s most prominent families, as well as the killing ground of the Surgeon, it has a rich history of abuse of power within its walls. Gil vaguely remembered the Surgeon’s case. That December, when it all culminated, Gil was just a low level uni, but he remembered how stressed the whole precinct was.

Each step leading up to the Manor sent an icy wave down Gil’s spine. The warm yellow lights on the inside did nothing to fight against the chill in the air. Gil was attending a party for cancer patients inside the home of a notorious serial killer. As light as the holidays are, this one was tainted.

The inside of the Manor was as regal as Gil expected. Cream marble tiles coated the floor and the crystal chandeliers hung from the ceiling made everything sparkle. A large Christmas tree sat in the foyer, shrinking all the guests. It reminded Gil of the Nutcracker ballet when Clara dreamt of her Christmas tree growing. The Manor held the same magic that the ballet always did.

There’s a table littered with seating cards and Gil wasted no time finding his and rushing to his table. The food was pretty good, all things considered, but nothing really held Gil’s attention. There was music if people wanted to dance, an open bar if people wanted to get drunk, and the kitchen was filled with professionally done gingerbread houses. It was beautiful, but Gil can’t bring himself to care.

Not wanting to be a rude guest, his seat was already paid for, Gil decided not to leave early. It truly was a sweet gesture, but the jolly atmosphere of the party just couldn’t cut through Gil’s fog. Perhaps a walk around the building, he told himself. Having already seen all of the first floor, Gil mumbled a half-assed story about looking for a bathroom on the second floor so that he can go explore.

It’s just office, after supply closet, after break room. The second floor was nowhere near as interesting. With no sense of satisfaction, Gil headed back towards the stairs. He looked over his shoulder to ensure that he closed the door behind him and when he turned back he crashed into someone.

“So sorry.” Gil muttered. Shit, he’s been caught.

“No, please, I should’ve seen you there.” The other man’s voice was calm.

Gil chanced a look at the man he bumped into and nearly let out a laugh. He’s dressed in the most horrible outfit Gil has ever seen. Almost a mix between a wooden soldier and a tablecloth. The man donned black dress shoes, navy slacks, and a gold button up layered with a red and gold brocade vest. 

“That’s quite a look you’re pulling there.” Gil lifted his chin, a smirk forming at his lips.

“Management likes it.” The man scoffed and ran a hand through his hair. His blue eyes shone with a joke he was dying to reveal. “Malcolm, I’m sort of like the property manager.”

“Gil, NYPD Lieutenant.” Gil responded. He shook Malcolm’s hand and didn’t miss the way Malcolm smiled when their hands connected.

“Let me walk you back down to the other guests.” Malcolm gestured to the staircase. So Gil was busted after all.

“Thanks,” Gil forced a laugh, “I was hoping there were some pictures up here. You know, the history of the Manor.” 

Malcolm's polite smile dropped, only for a split second, but Gil caught it nonetheless. The man stopped to think. The same saccharine smile from before appeared and Gil braced himself for a well rehearsed corporate apology and for Malcolm to lead him back down the stairs. Instead, Malcolm turned the handle of a door to their left that Gil had left alone. 

A plaque on the door read “Catering Office” so Gil didn’t even bother with it. Inside was a large metal desk that took up the majority of the room. Against the wall to their right was an old leather couch. Malcolm sat down first, tucking his legs underneath him. He waited for Gil to join him before he launched into a long winded ramble of the history of Milton Manor.

“You’re an officer?” He questioned Gil. 

“I am. I started right when the Surgeon case was closing. The city was scared out of their mind. You’re probably not old enough to remember.” A sad smile crossed Gil’s face. He envied Malcolm who he thought was able to escape the shadow the Surgeon plummeted the city into. 

“I’m older than you think.” Malcolm smirked and rubbed at the back of his neck. “I remember the evilness of the Surgeon. My mother was terrified of him.”

“But enough about me! The history of the Miltons is as rich as they were. The family’s first claim to fame was their ancestor Randolph. He was Andrew Carnegie’s right hand man and eventually went off to own his own extremely profitable, albeit smaller, steel monopoly.”

“So they were new money?” Gil interjected. 

“You could say that.” Malcolm laughed. “As their wealth grew, so did _other_ lucrative business opportunities. There’s a network of winding secret tunnels in the basement from when Douglas Milton was a bootlegger during Prohibition.” 

“A few highly decorated officers from the first and second World Wars. A failed hollywood actress. But what I’m sure you’re most interested in is the last of the Miltons.” An expert storyteller, Malcolm’s expression changed with each additional detail. 

“You make me sound like every morbid true crime junkie.” A blush spread over Gil’s cheeks.

“Isn’t it your job to be?” Malcolm shot back. It wasn’t far from the truth and Gil found himself easily charmed by the lively man in front of him. 

“In a sense, sure.” 

“Anyway, Jessica Milton was the only daughter of Robert and Michelle Milton. She met Martin Whitly during his residency at Weill and the two got married after he completed it.” Malcolm paused. The levity of the recent history still dampened the mood of any conversation. 

“They had two children. Malcolm and Ainsley, born four years apart.”

“You’re a Malcolm too and you work here?” Gil tried to joke, but it fell flat with Malcolm’s pink lips pushed together in a thin line. 

“I never thought about it like that.” A sadness crept into the air and a coldness seeped into Gil’s bones. 

“I’m sorry.” Gil casts his eyes downward. Embarrassed that he would make a joke like that to a complete stranger. “I shouldn’t try to make light of something so tragic.” 

“Probably not,” Malcolm agreed, “but it’s alright. Thank you for the apology.” 

“Shall I continue our trip down memory lane?” Malcolm teased back, unwilling to let Gil be the only one making social faux pas’. 

“Please do.” Gil rocked gently on the couch, searching for a more comfortable dip in the well worn leather.

“I’m sure you’re already familiar with Martin Whitly.” Malcolm waited for Gil’s nod before continuing. “He had everyone fooled. Until he didn’t. Malcolm stumbled into his father’s study in the basement one night and saw the body of a girl, unconscious in a luggage trunk. A week later Martin took Malcolm on a hunting trip where Martin’s work friend mistook Malcolm for their game and killed him.” Malcolm took a shuddering breath.

“No one believes that Watkins mistook Malcolm for game. Watkins was later charged with nineteen other counts of first degree murder.” Gil interjected.

“That’s… reassuring.” Malcolm’s pursed lips slide into a grimace. “It was definitely planned, Malcolm didn’t stand a chance.”

“May that kid rest in peace. I can’t imagine the hell he knew in life, I hope death is more peaceful for him.”

Gil’s sincerity took Malcolm by surprise. In the few moments that Malcolm was able to share with others, he never received this kind of sympathy. Never heard anything more than invasive questions forcing him to relive traumas he spent decades trying to forget. 

Not wanting Gil to dwell on the sadness for too long, Malcolm grabbed his hand and squeezed. “He’s in a better place now. I promise.” 

Malcolm’s touch left a lingering sensation on the back of Gil’s hand. The same sensation as a buzz of electricity. The feel of when your hand brushed against something rough and it takes a moment to readjust to the stillness of the air. 

“I can’t imagine coming home and telling your wife what happened-”

“It’s not hard for a psychopath like the Surgeon. He didn’t actually care. His son got in his way, so he took him out. When his wife and daughter questioned him, he took them out too.”

“He was found when the police caught him sneaking back into the woods where his son died to dispose of the murder weapon.” Gil dragged a hand over his face. “If that man had chosen anywhere else to dump it, he would’ve gotten away with it. The house was staged like it was a break in, did you know that?” 

“We’re sitting in what was Ainsley’s room. She died in here. At the hands of her father. He killed her first, then went into the master bedroom across the hall, what’s now the small business conference room, and killed his wife while she slept.” Malcolm sniffled quickly. His chest shook with the sobs he refused to let out. 

“I can’t imagine how difficult it must be to work here. To have to be within these walls every day.” Gil patted Malcolm’s leg.

“They used to be filled with joy and love.” Straightening his back, Malcolm composed himself, and stared at the wall until he trusted his voice not to betray him. “It’s why I proposed the holiday gala. I wanted the Manor to be filled with life and brightness again.”

“Thank you for putting this together.” Gil blushed and even more strange, he felt himself genuinely smile for the first time. 

“I’m sorry for the reason that you’re here,” Malcolm started, “but I’m glad that you’re here. I liked spending this time with you and I’d like to do it again sometime.”

Gil’s brain can’t process what he’d just heard. He desperately tried to make some logical explanation for Malcolm’s kindness towards him, a reason behind such an open statement as that one, but he can’t. There’s no other way he could have viewed it.

“You don’t have to answer that.” Malcolm brushed Gil off just as fast as he opened up to him. “I’m sorry, that was,” he paused, he chuckled, “incredibly forward of me.”

Malcolm stood, nearly taking Gil off the couch with him in the process. “I’ll walk you back down. I didn’t mean to keep you from the party for so long. I know I have a tendency to ramble on and on- and there I go again-”

Gil laughed. He laughed so hard and so sweetly that Malcolm had to pause walking just so that he could bask in the sound. 

“I liked spending this time talking to you as well. If it wasn’t for you, I would have left the gala early, so really, it’s me who should be thanking you.” Gil stood and dusted off the seat of his pants. Malcolm grinned at him and led them out into the hallway.

From behind the closed door, the two men couldn’t hear the party go on without them, but now that they were back in the hallway nearing the main area, the sounds of merriment met their ears. Cheers of excitement, flashes from a camera, the smell of coffee, it all greeted them warmly. This was how Milton Manor should’ve always been. 

The narrow hallway of the Manor’s second floor deposits those inside it directly in front of the great staircase which begins and ends in the foyer. The deep, rich wood a stark contrast from the cream marble tiles. Malcolm rushed down the stairs ahead of Gil, the fingers of his hand absentmindedly fiddling with the coat check ticket he had retrieved from Gil’s pocket. 

Gil took the stairs one at a time. His cancer progressed and small tasks like stairs made him gasp for air. He wasn’t fit to be out in the field anymore. The brass had wanted to stationed him on desk work, training, and even a few public outreach things that were no more than marketing tactics, but Gil fought to stay on a few more cases. Gil envied the liveliness that Malcolm had. The ability to breeze down a singular flight of stairs and not have your body betray you in the process. 

When Gil finally made it down to the landing Malcolm was already waiting with his jacket opened and ready for Gil to just slip his arms in. Gil turned slowly, his cheeks heating at the thought of the other guests watching him get such special treatment. Malcolm raised to the balls of his feet in order to smooth out Gil’s collar from behind. 

A soft pat on his shoulder let Gil know that Malcolm was satisfied with the way he looked. Looking over his shoulder to catch a glimpse of Malcolm’s smile, Gil twisted his head, and then sighed when his nice dress coat restricted his movement. His shoes squeaked as he spun on his heel. He looked up, hoping that his overdramatized annoyance would make Malcolm laugh. 

Hanging overhead was a small twig of a plant. It’s elongated leaves and berries of red and white gave away what it was. A gold chord and a gold ribbon held the mistletoe firmly in place, letting those who found themselves lucky enough to be under it be dazzled by the firm shape it held. 

“Well, would you look at that-“ 

Before Gil knew it, Malcolm’s wrapped his fingers around the lapels of Gil’s coat, tugging the older man forward. Gil knew what was coming next. He closed his eyes and let his hands come up to rest on Malcolm’s waist, pulling Malcolm closer to himself. 

His lips were soft and velvety like a blanket. Warm like a fire. Malcolm’s hands flexed, Gil smiled briefly before intertwining their fingers and dropping the two pairs of hands down to their sides. Gil was the first to pull away but regretted how cold he felt without Malcolm’s lips on his. So he leaned back in, inched closer and closer to Malcolm, until they found their way back to each other. 

The garlands of lights set the room ablaze in a golden light. This was what heaven must be like. A giddy haze of easiness that swirled around you and filled you up until every sensation was perfectly too much. This time Malcolm pulled back. His eyelids heavy with pleasure and blush dusting his face. 

“That wasn’t very professional of me.” He stammered. 

Gil brought Malcolm’s hand up to his mouth and pressed a kiss to his knuckles, the back of his hand, the inside of his wrist. 

“Do you regret it?” 

A soft blush graced Malcolm’s cheeks. “No. Definitely don’t regret it.”

“Good.” Gil cupped Malcolm’s cheek. “Neither do it.”

“Would you want to grab drinks sometime?” The words tumbled from Gil’s mouth. He couldn’t stop them, no time to think about what he had said before Malcolm was already responding.

“No, I’m sorry. I don’t really have a life outside of the Manor.” He stepped back. Withdrawing from Gil, taking all the warmth with him.

Gil didn’t know what he did wrong. If he even _did_ anything wrong. Malcolm was the one who initiated the kiss. Was it just a kiss, nothing more? Or was it only Malcolm’s attempt to make a sick and old dying man happy for the holiday season?

“Can I see you again?” Gil doesn’t like feeling desperate. Doesn’t like feeling played, led on, exposed.

“I’ll tell you what. You come back here next year, same gala, and we can have this conversation then.” The exuberance that Gil had come to expect from Malcolm dissolved. The man seemed sallow and depressed. If Gil didn’t know any better, he’d say that Malcolm was pushing him away because Malcolm didn’t want to deal with a partner who was sick- couldn’t deal with a partner that was sick. But Gil didn’t get the sense that Malcolm was that kind of person. 

“Did I do something?” He grew somber at the thought. 

“No! No, oh god no. I just-” Malcolm trailed off, unsure of how to say what he wanted to say, “I’m working on a project for the Manor. I’m not going to be able to commit myself to anything outside of the Manor until then. I just physically won’t be capable of being open to anything until then.” 

“I understand.” Gil’s beard tickled Malcolm as Gil pressed a soft kiss to Malcolm’s cheek. It was a sweet kiss. A goodbye kiss. A ‘I wish this would have worked out’ kind of kiss. “Work’s important to you. I can respect that.”

“Don’t hate me.” Malcolm ducked his head as he took a step back, removing himself from the warmth of Gil’s presence and embrace.

“I don’t think I ever could.” Gil found himself saying. His honesty cut Malcolm to the bone.

“I should go.” A foot on the stair, ready to disappear within a moment's notice. To slip away, leaving Gil stranded on the stairs like Prince Charming. 

He climbed the stairs, his foot thudding on each step like how Gil’s heart pounded in his chest. He watched Malcolm round the top stair and vanish around the opposite side of the wall. There wasn’t a reason for Gil to stay at the party anymore. Malcolm had given Gil his jacket and left, he might as well go home too.

December 23rd

“Arroyo!” The nurse called, ushering Gil into his doctor’s office.

The doctor liked to rotate different artwork in his office to match the month. For December, it was a beautiful snow capped mountain. The evergreens heavy with snow and off in the distance an ornate sleigh stuffed to the brim with presents. 

“Doctor.” Gil nodded as he took his seat. The man smiled at him and for the first time, Gil didn’t find it patronizing. Gil smiled back.

“I missed you at the party the other night.” There’s a glint to the doctor’s eye. He didn’t expect to see Gil, was hoping to goad him about not showing up.

“I spent most of the night in the offices upstairs.” Gil smiled sheepishly, like a teenager who was caught trying to sneak out. “The property manager told me the history of the manor. I only caught the tail end of the Surgeon’s case when I joined the force, so there were some things I didn’t even know.”

The doctor leaned back in his chair, amusement and surprise playing behind his eyes. “You got Jamie to talk about the Milton’s?” He huffed. “You’re very good looking, I’m sure you charmed your way into having that conversation with her.”

“Jamie?” The name was unfamiliar and strange on Gil’s tongue. There was no Jamie that night at the Milton Manor. Gil didn’t hear the story of the fallen Miltons from a woman who was rather tightlipped. He sat in a cozy office with a young man who was all too forthcoming with information. He knew the case like the back of his hand and was eager to share the history of the beautiful home.

“Jamie Berger?” The doctor shot Gil a strange look. “You did say the property manager, right?” 

“Yeah… but _his_ name was Malcolm, not Jamie. I didn’t meet a Jamie.”

“You’ve had to. Jamie is the Manor’s property manager. You couldn’t have met the property manager then. Here, I’ll pull up the website.” Each stroke of the keyboard felt like a hammer to Gil’s temple. He remembered Malcolm saying he was the property manager, if that was a lie how much else of the night was a lie too?

“Ah, here we go, Jamie Berger, see.” The doctor pivots the monitor and taps the screen. There’s a picture of a blonde woman. Under her image are the words ‘Jamie Berger, Property Manager since 2017,’ so definitely not Malcolm. “Besides, Jamie hates all the media the Manor receives for its history. She worked tirelessly to get the Manor off of any Haunted New York walking tours.”

Gil’s eyes darted over the rest of the screen, looking vigilantly for the man he spent the evening with. “Would you mind scrolling down a bit? Maybe I heard Malcolm wrong and he does something else for the Manor?”

With a playful roll of his eyes, the doctor scrolled down, but the rest of the page was full of unfamiliar faces. Malcolm lied to him. The happiness that Gil had been feeling since the gala evaporated and once again he was left with the heavy weight of despair settled around his feet. It gripped his ankles and slowed him down, it gave him the time to overthink every decision he ever regretted. He hated that the gala at the Manor might become another mistake.

“I hope you enjoyed the night regardless?” The doctor paused and Gil nodded, he _did_ enjoy the gala, but now it’s stained. “Good. I wanted to discuss the possibility of surgery for you. In other patients with the same diagnosis as you it’s proven to be beneficial. I would strongly consider it as your first option. If it doesn’t go the way we want, chemoradiation is always available.”

Gil stopped listening to the doctor. He’d go along with what he recommended, wouldn’t question him, wouldn’t go looking for other answers. He wanted to pay attention, knew that he should be, but all he could think about was the mysterious man from the gala. 

The doctor didn’t notice that Gil’s mind was elsewhere. Or if he did, he didn’t call Gil out on it. Gil was sure that many patients tended to go blank while discussing treatment options, it’s not a conversation anyone would ever want to have. As long as Gil was nodding at the appropriate times, the doctor carried on about all the different treatments, how the surgery would work, and the post-op requirements. 

When the doctor finally stopped talking he _really_ took a good look at Gil and saw just how unfocused he was. “Lieutenant? Why don’t we discuss this another time? This is a lot to process, I worry about you.” 

Gil scoffed before he could have caught himself. He frowned and struggled to compose himself. “I’m sorry, thank you, yeah another time. I never thought this would be my life.”

“No one ever does. The important thing is to find other things to get you to keep going. Your family?” Gil shook his head- he’s an only child and both his parents have passed. “Friends?”

“Work is my life.” GIl offers up. It sounded less sad in his head. 

“That’s good! Helping others, serving the community! It’s a valuable job.” The doctor’s polite words cut like knives. 

“Speaking of work, I should go…” Gil stood and shrugged on his jacket, eager to leave the insanely clean office of his doctor for the warm and bustling bullpen. 

“Maybe you can use your resources and track down the mysterious Malcolm from the gala!” The doctor joked. “It’s a shame though, working at the Manor while named Malcolm. That’d be enough to keep me away from applying there.”

All at once, the gears in Gil’s head began to turn. Malcolm lying about his job, refusing to meet Gil outside of the Manor, how he knew so much about the Milton’s and the Whitly’s. It was an absurd theory, sure, but it made sense. He had to test it out and he knew exactly how.

“Doctor, you’re a genius! I need to go! Thank you!” Gil ran out of the office, not even stopping at the front desk to schedule his next appointment- he can take care of that on the phone later.

The drive to the precinct was long and tedious with the midday traffic. Gil passed the time trying to figure out which was more insane: the fact that he was considering that Malcolm was Malcolm Whitly or that he needed proof to convince himself that Malcolm wasn’t the deceased son and victim of a notorious serial killer.

“Shannon!” Gil called when he entered his superior’s office. “Can I get access to the computer with the age progression software?”

“Can I ask why?” Shannon snorted. Gil fiddled with the scarf around his neck. “Nevermind, I don’t want to know. Think of this as your Christmas gift.”

“Thank you, sir.” Gil clasped his hands behind his back, waiting for Shannon to give him the code.

“Oh, you’re being serious?” Shannon rolled his eyes and began to dig through his desk drawer. He was taking forever. Gil mentally scoffed at himself, why would Shannon actually help him out. It was all just a rouse to get Gil to leave him alone. Turning his back, Gil took one step through the door, ready to give up hope when Shannon laughed.

“You son of a bitch! You didn’t trust me to get it for you?” It was another one of Shannon’s jabs. He loved to put Gil down any chance he got. “Alright, out with it- why’d you want the code?”

“If I told you, you’d call me crazy.”

“Arroyo, I already call you crazy.” Shannon laughed an ugly laugh. The same laugh that makes you feel small and stupid. The kind of laugh that stays with you for as long as you live. Gil forced himself to keep his face neutral as he trudged across the room to take the index card from Shannon’s hand.

Right as Gil’s fingertips brushed against the card, Shannon jerked it back, just out of Gil’s reach. “Ah, ah, ah. You want it? You gotta tell me what it’s for. I know that your current case doesn’t need it.”

The gears of Gil’s mind turn to try and find a convincing lie for his boss. One that won’t make him sound like he’s losing his mind. How do you tell your boss that you want to make sure that the man you kissed at your cancer patient holiday party wasn’t the ghost of a serial killer’s son? Well, a convincing lie is nothing more than a well packaged truth.

“Just feeling a little nostalgic. It’s around the anniversary of the Surgeon’s arrest. And well I, I wanted to see what those kids would’ve looked like if they were able to live out their lives.” Gil sighed. That was a lie he could live with.

“It’s a shame what happened to those kids, but you can’t do anything for them now, Gil.” Shannon softened up. The Surgeon was his case. The whole precinct knew that Shannon’s alcoholism was due to the guilt he felt. If he had just solved it sooner, he could’ve saved that family from ruin. Rubbing a hand over his face, Shannon sighed and gave the card to Gil.

“I can tell you’re set on this. Do me a favor and delete those files the second you’re done with them? I don’t want those lying around.” 

“Yes of course.” Gil nodded to thank his boss and quickly exited the room. Unsure if the pounding in his ears was due to his heavy footsteps or the hammering of his heart in his chest. He decided to take the stairs two at a time, less of a chance that others will see him. He doesn’t want anyone questioning him. Shannon already put him on edge.

Working as quickly as possible, he did have other cases that were on his docket right now, Gil pulled up the old pictures from the Whitly case file. There was only one photo of the young Whitly boy that had him facing forward, Gil assumed it was a school photo from the looks of it. He scanned the photo into the computer and added it to the program database. His hand moved as if on its own accord, Gil didn’t even have to think about dragging the file into the program. 

The different parameters popped up and Gil filled them out to the best of his ability: no to smoking, no to alcohol abuse, no to other drugs. Going off of the Surgeon’s pictures of him at age thirty, around the age Malcolm would have been. The age that the Malcolm Gil kissed is. The progress bar along the top of the page loaded slowly, the seconds crawled by, until finally, the completed image popped up.

It’s him. Well, not exactly, some features were a little off. But there was no mistaking who he was looking at. It was Malcolm, _his_ Malcolm. Shocked, Gil fell back into the chair. He deleted the folder, not wanting to look at it any longer. How was this even possible? 

“How do I know I’m alive?” Gil’s concern transformed into full blown fear. Could it have been delusions? The images put forth from a dying brain to bring a man an ounce of pleasure before his untimely demise. If Gil was dead, he reasoned, he would be able to kiss someone else who was also dead.

“Jesus Christ.” Gil looked up to the ceiling, his head fell and hit the back of the chair. “Well, maybe not. Ghosts are energy, right? They can’t touch things.” 

Muttering to himself as he walked back downstairs, Gil refused to make eye contact with any uni’s. He just kept his head down and got to work. He had medical and mortality issues to be dealt with, but later. Right now, he had a case.

March 29th

“I don’t think I’ve seen you this happy in a long time.” The doctor shook Gil’s hand as he walked into the office.

“It’s all thanks to you, doc. I feel better than I have in years.” Taking his place in the chair opposite his doctor’s desk, Gil folded his hands in his lap. Nervous didn’t even begin to cover how he was feeling. 

“I have good news.” 

Gil let out a real breath for the first time. One unencumbered by an unwelcome guest. His body was his own again.

“The surgery was a success. We were able to remove the entire tumor. I want you to come back every two months for check ups, but at this moment- you have a clean bill of health.” He stood, walked around the desk, waiting for Gil to follow suit.

As soon as their hands met, the doctor pulled Gil into a hug. The kind of hug that felt well deserved, a reward for all of Gil’s hard work and fighting. Sure there were times when everything felt bleak, a majority of the time truthfully, but work kept him going.

“Hey, did you ever find that Malcolm guy from the gala?” Eye sparkling, the doctor knew what he was doing. Even Gil could read between the lines. _You’re not sick anymore, go and find the man who turned your life upside down._

“No, I didn’t. My guess was that he was a seasonal hire.” Something twisted in Gil’s stomach. A sour note to the ultimately bright day. He wouldn’t be going back to the gala this year, he beat his cancer.

September 19th

A rabbit foot dangled from GIl’s keys, but it never brought him any luck. He stroked the soft memento, it was a gift from his father when he got the Le Mans, while he listened to the doctor. The check ups were necessary, and now proving to be indispensable. The cancer was back.

“Inoperable this time.” That’s all the doctor said. That’s all he had to say. 

Shoulder sagging, Gil nodded and pursed his lips. He was so hopeful. The surgery had been a success, they thought they had removed all cancer cells and yet it came back. Worse this time, if anything, because they couldn’t go back in. 

Gil had gotten used to the comfortable thought of the little hole in his chest. It was a reminder that he won a battle he never thought he was going to fight. Now, the hole in his chest was something entirely different, it’s an emptiness. Gil’s victory turned into a defeat.

“So what are my options this time?” Gil looked up at his doctor, eyes begging for any bit of positive information he could get.

“Chemo and radiation.” The words Gil has been dreading.

It’s not that he’s a vain man, but he was able to hide his sickness from Shannon so far- besides the few weeks he had scraped together of personal days post surgery, and Gil wanted to keep it that way. The new treatment would be… _harder_ to keep under wraps.

Gil nods thoughtfully, he felt too numb to do anything more.

“I am sorry, Gil.” A warm hand found its way to Gil’s shoulder. A firm squeeze, a short pat, it was nice but it just made Gil even more sad.

“It’s not your fault and there’s nothing more we could have done, but thank you.” Trying his best to not make his discomfort painfully obvious, Gil squeezed the doctor’s hand back before removing it from his shoulder.

“Listen, the gala is happening again this year. If you want to go back I can get you an invite?” The doctor is perched on the edge of his desk, giving Gil a hopeful look. It screams _”Go back so you can see Malcolm again”_ and Gil can’t help but to laugh at his doctor’s blatant attempts to cheer him up.

“I’d like that. Thank you.” Gil tucked his keys back into his jacket pocket. The soft allure of the rabbit’s foot was no match for the distant memory of Malcolm’s velvety lips.

December 21st

Milton Manor had the same brightness that it possessed the year before. The only difference between this year’s gala and the last was the color scheme. Streamers of white, silver, and navy blue hung from the ceiling give the illusion of a blizzard. Even though it was cool toned, the Manor’s atmosphere was warm and inviting.

Thankful that he knew what to expect from the event this year, Gil felt more comfortable in the Manor- as both a guest to the gala and standing in the same rooms that once belonged to the Surgeon. 

The dining room was decorated so that it matched the foyer. Gil took his place at his table and made small talk with the three couples he was sat with. Their presence just made Gil long to spot Malcolm even more. The seven of them played along with the silly games being hosted by the dj; bingo, a Family Feud style game, and even a game that assigned different points to possible objects you’d carry with you. One of the women at the table got fifteen points for having a teaspoon in her purse.

“If you’d excuse me.” Gil announced to the table, departing from this round of Name That Tune to head to the display of gingerbread houses. He was halfway down the hallway when he saw someone familiar round the corner.

“Malcolm?” He called.

Blue eyes and a shy smile peak around the bend.

“Gil?” Disbelief made Malcolm’s voice catch in his throat. “Oh my god, is that you?” 

The younger man ran to Gil and threw his arms around him in an embrace that felt more like a stranglehold than a hug. 

“Yes, it’s me. I can’t believe I get to see you again.” Gil slid his hand up Malcolm’s back until it rested low on his neck. His thumb moved in soft circles over the ridge of Malcolm’s spine.

“I didn’t think I’d see you again.” Tears welled up in Malcolm’s eyes. “God, I wanted to see you again, but at the same time I didn’t.” Gil stepped back at those words.

“No, shit, let me explain.” Malcolm blushed and squeezed his eyes shut, hoping that it would help to reorganize his thoughts. “If I didn’t see you I thought I’d be able to convince myself that you weren’t sick anymore, but I knew that I wouldn’t be able to- I’d just fear the worst. But you’re back, you’re alive,” Malcolm paused, “but you’re here. How are you?”

“Well, I’m here.” Gil gestured around the Manor. “So I’m still sick.”

“I’m sorry. I wish you weren’t.”

“Me and you both.” Gil said as he finally released Malcolm. 

The two of them were quiet for a moment. A moment that seemed to stretch on for too long. Neither man was ready to say what they wanted, nor even knew how to say it. 

“I, um, I was heading to look at the gingerbread houses.” Not ready to leave Malcolm just yet, Gil offered him his arm. A smile tugged at Malcolm’s lips as he snaked his hand through the crook of Gil’s elbow and let himself be dragged across the manner. 

The side room was filled with people milling about, ooing and ahing over the grand displays made from sugar. They lap the room once to look at all the houses on the outskirts and then a second time around the room to look at the one huge display in the center. A stunning two story victorian mansion sits on a table as the true centerpiece of the gala.

Gil doesn’t know when Malcolm’s hand moved from his elbow to holding his hand but he doesn’t mind it. He gives Malcolm’s hand a squeeze and the two of them make their way back to the main ballroom of the Manor, but Malcolm freezes before they could be seen by Gil’s table.

“Can we go upstairs? There’s something I want to tell you.” Malcolm casts his eyes to the floor. Gil was fairly certain what Malcolm wanted to talk about and Gil was desperate for the confirmation. 

“Anything you want.” Gil murmured. He traced the back of his hand along Malcolm’s jaw. Right then, Gil would’ve sworn that all the lights in the Manor shone brighter.

Malcolm led this time. He took the stairs two at a time with Gil trailing behind him. Malcolm paused to catch his breath and Gil found himself eye level with the seat of Malcolm’s pants. Something overtook Gil that he hadn’t felt in years. A surge of energy surged from Gil’s chest and he rushed up the stairs, tackling Malcolm into the unlocked break room. 

The door locked with a _click_ and Malcolm found himself pushed up against it. Gil’s hand was still on the handle and Malcolm lifted his hand to rest on top of Gil’s. Malcolm’s other hand dug into Gil’s hair and pulled him closer.

“Kiss me.” Malcolm breathed out.

“I thought you’d never ask.” Came Gil’s reply. 

Malcolm’s lips were just as soft as Gil remembered. He tasted of peppermint and Gil wanted more. Wanted to be overwhelmed with Malcolm, to memorize every little thing about him. Malcolm whined, high and needy into Gil’s mouth, begging him to kiss him like he meant it. Gil smiled in return and the hairs of his beard tickled Malcolm.

Their kiss turned from passionate to longing and back again, the two men sinking into the feeling of another’s touch. Something they’ve been denied for far too long. Gil’s hand slid down Malcolm’s chest and fell to the side of the seam of Malcolm’s pants.

“Can I?” Gil barely broke away from the kiss to ask. 

Instead of responding with a “yes,” Malcolm angled his hips so that Gil’s palm hovered over the bulge in Malcolm’s pants. A rumble worked itself free from Gil’s throat and Malcolm’s hips rolled at the sound. 

Without breaking the kiss, Gil repositioned himself so that he had both hands free to undo Malcolm’s belt. A calloused hand wrapped around Malcolm’s cock and it jerked in his hand. Using his thumb, Gil gathered the bit of shine from the tip and smeared it down Malcolm’s length to ease the glide of his hand.

“Oh fuck me.” Malcolm’s eyes rolled back as he began to lose himself to the pleasure Gil was effortlessly surrounding him in. 

Gil kissed along Malcolm’s neck, pausing every now and then to gently nip and suck. All too soon Malcolm cried out and spilled into Gil’s hand. The top of his head banging against the door when he threw his head back and moaned Gil’s name. 

Malcolm felt humiliated. That was so much faster than he had wanted. He ran a hand through his hair out of frustration while watching Gil pluck a few tissues from off of the counter and clean up his hand. 

“Sorry. I’d come up with a better excuse but it’s been a while since I’ve been with someone.” Malcolm mumbled. 

“Don’t be. Same for me, it’s alright.” Gil’s kind words filled Malcolm with a calmness he didn’t think possible. 

“Let me return the favor?” Malcolm hummed. 

Before Gil could even answer, Malcolm had spun the two of them around so that Gil was now the one with his back pressed to the door. With a devilish smirk, Malcolm stepped closer to Gil, until their chests were pressed together. He pressed a kiss to Gil’s lips, then his jaw, his neck, gracefully dropping to his knees he kissed Gil one last time; his hot breath fogging the metal of Gil’s belt buckle. 

“You don’t need to do that.” Gil tilted Malcolm’s chin up so that their eyes could meet. 

“I know. I want to though.” Thin fingers rubbed back and forth over the zipper of Gil’s slacks. “Can I?” 

“Yeah, you can.” Gil ran his thumb adoringly across Malcolm’s cheek. Watching mesmerized as Malcolm undid Gil’s pants with little effort. 

Gil ran his other hand through Malcolm’s hair, but worried about seeming rude, so he second guessed it and instead let his hand settle on top of Malcolm’s head. The only warning Gil got was a wink before Malcolm took him into his mouth. 

His hand sought purchase at the door behind him as Malcolm expertly worked his tongue at the underside of Gil’s cock. Malcolm bat his eyes and moaned, pulling every stop he could think of. Gil was weak at the knees, grateful for the solid door behind him to hold him upright as Malcolm pulled him closer and closer to the brink of pleasure.

“Malcolm, _Malcolm_.” Gil cursed under his breath. He took his hand off of Malcolm, giving him room to pull back, but Malcolm only winked at him and kept going. 

Gil shuddered as Malcolm coaxed moan after moan out of him. His toes curled inside his shoes, Malcolm too much for him, as he swallowed Gil down.

“You know, that’s not why I wanted us to come upstairs.” Malcolm spoke from behind his hand, wiping at the corners of his mouth.

“I know, sorry.” Offering a hand, Gil helped Malcolm back to his feet.

They moved over to the break room’s table, sitting across from each other. Gil didn’t want it to feel transactional so he switched to the chair next to Malcolm. He ignored how Malcolm stilled when he grabbed his hand. 

“I need to tell you something important. About me. I’m not who I said I was, I’m-”

“You’re Malcolm Whitly.” Gil finished for him.

“How could you possibly know that?” Malcolm worked his hand free of Gil’s and gripped it tight, to hide the way it shook from his nerves.

“Well I didn’t at first. You had me fooled, but Jamie is the property manager, not you.” Malcolm hung his head, “Took me a while to wrap my head around that’s for sure.”

“No one has ever guessed before.” Malcolm sighed and laid his head on Gil’s shoulder, oddly touched that this man spent time researching him.

“I had to age progress an old picture of you because I couldn’t believe it. It wasn’t an exact match, but it was too similar to clear any doubts.” Gil laughed. “You were a cute kid. I am sorry, Malcolm.”

The room grew dimmer as Gil’s words settled over Malcolm. “Thank you, but we can’t go back and change the past. I’ve made my peace with what happened to me.” 

“Can I ask-” Gil hesitated, unsure of how to ask what was on his mind.

“If I made peace why am I still here? Roaming the Earth like a lost soul?” Malcolm smirked. 

“Well the movies lied, there’s no handbook you get when you die. Just have to learn some things for yourself.” He crossed his legs to sit more comfortably in the chair.

“If you died when you were young, _real young,_ you get to age. Most other ghosts just look the same as they were when they died.” Gesturing to himself, Malcolm laughed. In death he got to grow, to experience the simplicity of life that his father took away from him.

“So fuck the people who have cancer?” Gil tried to joke but the pain couldn’t be hidden behind the humor.

“No, um actually you’d just appear as the last time you were healthy. The thing is, since we’re ghosts, you’re not alive so it’s all just looks anyway. There’s no quote unquote feeling, you know? Just a well put together ball of energy.” Malcolm explained. It made sense to Gil; simple enough that it clicked but just bizarre enough that he probably wouldn’t have thought of it on his own.

“You say no feeling, but-” Gil lightly punched Malcolm’s on the shoulder. A friendly reminder that for a ball of energy, Malcolm had a _very_ physical form. One that Gil could take and give pleasure to.

“Right! I can only materialize during the month that I died. So Martin and John killed me on the seventeenth of December in 1998 therefore for the whole month of December I get to walk around my home.” Malcolm looked around the break room. It used to be his room. 

He closed his eyes and let himself be transported back in time, before the Manor was a catering hall and before his father’s ferocity became apparent. The table was replaced with a bed covered in a blue plaid comforter. A nightlight threw warped fragments of light across the walls and the ceiling. The room grew brighter.

“How do you do that?” Gil’s voice broke Malcolm free of his mind.

“Do what? The thing with the lights?” 

Gil nodded.

“I’m not quite sure. I think it has to do with the fact that my emotions are tied to the building.” Malcolm said simply. As though that clarification really made any more sense to Gil. 

Gil looked adorable. His brows drawn together, his mind loudly working to piece together what Malcolm was telling him. “You’re cute when you’re thinking, you know?”

“No one’s ever called me cute before.”

“Well they should, because you are.” Malcolm smiled blindingly at Gil before jumping back into the topic at hand.

“I was killed out in the woods, but I woke up- or appeared- here, back home. I can’t leave. I tried.” 

The first time Malcolm tried to leave the Manor was the night he watched, helplessly, as his father murdered Ainsley and Jessica. He tried to wake the both of them up but he didn’t understand how the physics of it worked so he was rendered powerless. He tried to flee the building, ran straight through the front door, and once he got to the gate he found himself transported back inside the foyer.

“I kept trying to leave, but each time it landed me back here. So I gave up. I watched the movers come, I watched the building become city property, watched it be bought and turned into the hall it is now. I’m tied here, so in return it reflects how I feel.” 

“So how’d you feel if I told you I wanted to see you every day for the rest of my life?” Gil leaned in and cupped Malcolm’s cheek, their lips inches apart. The room glowed.

January 27th

“You’re leaving us?” Shannon pouted.

“Yes, sir.” Gil paused, now was the time to bite the bullet. “I’m sick and I don’t want my illness interfering with the work that’s being done here.”

“Let me guess, you’re gonna become a security guard for some school?” Shannon mocked. 

“Night guard for the Milton Manor, actually.” Gil corrected.

“Ah.” Shannon tucked his thumbs under his desk. “Well, I wish you the best of luck Arroyo. I’m sorry to hear that you’re sick. If you need anything… don’t fucking come to me take it up with HR.”

“Thank you, Shannon.” Gil placed his gun and badge on the desk. For once, Shannon’s brusqueness was a blessing, it kept Gil’s irritation high enough so that he wouldn’t tear up. 

That night was Gil’s first night doing security for the Manor. It was completely uneventful in regards to crime, but Gil spent the night laying on the ballroom floor with Malcolm. They talked the whole night about everything and nothing. Malcolm explained more rules for being a ghost and Gil explained the Star Wars movies that Malcolm had missed. 

“I like that I get to see you more.” Malcolm turned towards Gil and smiled at him. Gil went to tuck a stray lock of hair behind Malcolm’s ear but his hand passed through Malcolm. 

“When will I remember?” Gil asked, exasperated. More to himself than Malcolm, more frustrated with himself for the reminder that he was alive and Malcolm isn’t.

“It’s a learning curve, Gil, don’t beat yourself up over it.” Malcolm sat up. Gil still half expected a shadow to fall over himself but the lights streamed right through Malcolm.

“One day, I’ll get it right.” Gil joined Malcolm in sitting up. Leaning over, he pressed a kiss in the air to where his lips would normally land. “One day, I’ll be able to hold you for real.”

October 26th

“Gil! I was surprised to see you on my schedule for today. How has treatment been going?” The doctor did very little to keep the shock off his face as he welcomed Gil into his office.

“It’s been going fine, or rather as fine as it can go. It’s not really been an issue, but I want to stop.” Gil took a steadying breath and forced himself to say what he had spent the past few weeks rehearsing. 

“Treatment is only staving off the inevitable. I retired from work because I knew that I wasn’t going to be able to meet the demand that the cases were going to call for. I have no family, no close friends. There’s no one alive that gives me a purpose to keep fighting. The treatments are working, but they’re _exhausting_. I want to be done with them.” Gil set his jaw. He wasn’t going to argue this.

The doctor flips his pen around his fingers a few times. He’s deep in thought, probably trying to think of some way to talk Gil out of this. “Alright. At this point if you’re saying it’s doing more harm than good, there’s no reason to continue it. I can’t say that I love the idea, but it’s your life, Gil.”

“Thank you, doc. You have no idea how happy this is going to make me.” Gil went to stand, but the doctor raised a hand, sending Gil back into the chair.

“This doesn’t mean that we’re done here, understand? I still want you following the diet we set up for you. I want more frequent visits, or at least calls to check in on you, okay?” True concern clouded the doctor’s eyes with tears. 

“You got it.” Gil smiles. He needed to start making preparations, his plan was just starting to unfold.

November 20th

“You did _what?_ ” Malcolm asked incredulously.

“I stopped treatment about a month ago.” Gil smiled. Proud of his actions, Gil didn’t know why Malcolm just wasn’t seeing the big picture.

“That was helping you!” Furious, Malcolm paced the upstairs hallway. Muttering under his breath, he threw Gil a glare every time he passed him on his journey from one end of the hallway to the other.

“No, Malcolm, they weren’t.” Gil stepped in front of Malcolm on his next pass. “Listen to me and trust me please? If I could hold you right now I would, but please, trust me. Allow me to do this.” 

Looking deep into Gil’s eyes, Malcolm could see all the pain that was there. The weariness and the long years well spent. “Alright, Gil. I’m not happy, but I do trust you.”

“Thank you, that’s all I ask.” Gil took the keys from his pocket and locked the break room door. “I’ll see you tomorrow night.” With that, he blew Malcolm a kiss and headed down the stairs.

December 2nd

“You’re an idiot.” Malcolm sobbed as he struggled to hold Gil against his chest. “You shouldn’t be here.”

Gil coughed. He wheezed breathing in and again as he spoke, “I’m exactly where I want to be.”

“Gil.” Malcolm was at a loss for words. He figured out Gil’s plan easily, it really wasn’t hard to do especially with the way Gil kept asking questions about being a ghost. What do you say when you have to watch the person you love die? The third time for Malcolm, but this time he’s determined not to leave. 

It’s difficult. It’s heartbreaking. All tinged with an undertone of excitement. Malcolm didn’t want to watch Gil suffer, didn’t like seeing him in pain, but it was a stepping stone to the two of them finally being able to be together for longer than a month. 

“It’s,” Gil coughed so hard that his body spasmed in Malcolm’s arms, “it’s alright, Malcolm.”

“I’m right here, Gil. I’m not going anywhere. Even if I could,” Malcolm joked, trying to keep his spirits up and the tears from his eyes, “I wouldn’t leave you.”

Too weak to respond, GIl just closed his eyes and nodded. He was in so much pain, his body ached and burned, struggling to get the oxygen he needed. Shifting closer to Malcolm, Gil was surprised to hear that Malcolm had a heartbeat. 

“It’s alright, Gil.” A tear fell from Malcolm’s cheek and landed in Gil’s hair. “What can I do for you? How can I make you more comfortable?”

“Nothing, Malcolm.” Came a voice from behind.

There in the doorway was Gil, as handsome as the day Malcolm first met him. Malcolm couldn’t believe his luck, to find someone he could spend forever with. Gil's eyes shone with love and he ran to meet Malcolm halfway.

“You did so much for me, I can’t ever thank you enough.”

With one hand cupping either side of Malcolm’s face, Gil pulled him into a kiss. They choked and cried tears of joy as they finally got to embrace like they hadn’t been able to do in nearly a year. Gil brushed his thumb under Malcolm’s eye, stopping the tears in their tracks. Looking up, Malcolm chuckled and pointed.

Following his eyeline, Gil turned around and laughed in disbelief. Above them, was the same mistletoe decoration that brought them together two years ago.

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Holidays Ace! I hope this is what you were looking for! I loved the prompt that you gave so much! It immediately gave me this idea and I just _ran_ with it. It then spiraled out of control, because when have I ever been able to write something short and sweet.


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